


i don't need anything other than you

by ghoultown



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaos Magic, Chronological, Ellis Avenue, Established Relationship, F/M, First experiences, Fluff and Angst, Human Vision (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, Maximoff Anomaly, Memory Loss, Mentions of MCU Events, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Ship of Theseus, Spoilers, Synthezoid Feels Emotion for the first time, The Hex (Marvel), Vulnerability, Wanda Maximoff is trying her best to keep it together, best to be safe, love spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 15:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30141615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: “Come, step into the light.” Vision holds his hand out, steady as ever, and waits for her to take it. He pulls her close, into the yellow light, holding her hands in his. “Tell me. Do I look the same to you today?”She makes a face, “Of course you do.”“No, please.Please,look closer.” He bends down slightly to assist in her search. “I’ve been looking in the mirror for ten minutes. There’s something here. Something extra or something missing, I cannot tell, but i-it’ssomething.”Wanda’s disposition changes. Somewhere back between concern and… well, something else. Something just as unfamiliar. “Vis, you sound… panicked.”“Hm?” Vision blinks. “I can’t panic.”_Vision wakes up one morning to find his memories gone. He figures there must be a logical explanation. Until there can't be.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	1. They're right outside the door.

**Author's Note:**

> work and chapter titles will be based on 'shame' by mitski. because it's perfect.
> 
> i've been searching far and wide for something that would give vision the ability to touch and feel, the ability to be truly humanly vulnerable, but i couldn't find many in a non-sexual context. i figured it would be somewhat of an overwhelming experience so he likely wouldn't do it by himself.
> 
> lo and behold. vision vulnerability. god i hope someone else wants to read this.

_Monday_

The first morning in Westview, the first _real_ morning, Vision is certain that it is some sort of misaligned code or unscheduled reboot that is preventing him from his memories.

It is him, and it is Wanda, and there is a shared bed and a house, and it all seems perfectly plausible and realistic. He loves Wanda, it stands to reason that they would have gotten married and found a lovely forever home to settle down in.

It’s just an odd feeling, this… haziness. Other than love, he hasn’t felt something before that could be described in such human terms. Haziness. Blurriness. Uncertainty. Perhaps this is what happens to all vibranium-made synthezoids when they buy their first house, they need a reboot. He hasn’t needed recalibration since assuming this form, but it certainly went something like this. It takes a moment to get the data back, that’s all. Hopefully it will come back soon.

The day provides minimal but necessary context. Vision finds himself… employed? He finds himself owning suits. It is a job based in computers, a human job with human-level knowledge required. He cannot place the origin to this normalcy, nor can he understand why normalcy feels so foreign.

There is charm to normalcy. A comfort.

And so, he changes into his human form in the morning and he does the job he’s been assigned. And he returns home to his wife, and she smiles at him, and the gears in his chest stutter for a moment when he sees her like this. Smiling. The dress fits her well, it’s almost as if she’s always worn it. As if it’s been made perfectly to her shape.

He can’t remember what she wore yesterday, but it’ll all come to him in time. He’s sure she looked as beautiful then as she does now. Sure of it.

“Sweetheart,” Wanda says, holding an arm out to him from her place on the couch. She is perfectly placed, stunningly beautiful. Vision wonders if he should tell her about the fuzziness in his head, but he decides against it. “How was your day at work?”

“Ah,” he replies, trying to summon a reply. How _was_ his day? What had he done, today? Computers. But what about the computers? He settles beside her. He wishes for a moment that his skin was more able to _feel,_ to _touch_ in the way he wanted. The way they fit together must be lovely when you can feel it. “You know, darling. A bit of this. A bit of… er, that.”

She smiles and nods as if she knows precisely what he means. “Not very eventful, then.”

“Not quite.” He leans to kiss her, and she meets him in the center.

They kiss often. He imagines it is more of a tactile reward for her, but Vision must rely solely on the fact that it is a privilege for him. No one else can kiss Wanda, he can. He may not be able to feel it like she can, but it is gratifying nonetheless.

Vision glances down to their hands. Wanda is holding onto his, and the sight alone is wonderful. But he notices the barrenness of the picture, the program over his eyesight scans to find no wedding rings. But he was certain he saw a wedding dress in the closet.

“Hm,” he says softly, running a thumb over the plateau of her hand, resting gently on her ring finger. The question lingers on his tongue. But the data has not returned after a full day of work, the bleariness remains, and there is a statistical probability that, within that data, lies the reason for the absence of their jewelry. So, he avoids it, as to not make a fool of himself. “It’s been a rather long day, dear, would you like to retire to bed? With me?”

Wanda opens her mouth to say something but instead lifts a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. That is all that Vision needs to stand and lift Wanda in his arms, an easy task as always, to carry her to their shared room.

Perhaps a nice shut-down, a nice rest, will restore the memories. He cannot wait to remember.

* * *

_Tuesday_

Vision opens his eyes. Wanda is asleep next to him, her arms wrapped around his bicep. He cannot help but smile at the sight.

Then, he remembers yesterday. And nothing before.

He does a scan.

Damn. 

If anything, the fog of his mind has blown away and only left blank spaces in its wake. And it is disheartening in a way. Perhaps this is not an issue with his programming. He knew there was something unfamiliar about this. Data doesn’t just… disappear. It can’t. Not from his system. This is unprecedented.

“Wanda, darling,” he murmurs, checking the time to make sure it isn’t too dreadfully early. She hums in her sleep. “My love, if you could, I need a favor.”

“What time is it?” She whispers, clearly thinking him to be asking a completely separate sort of favor.

“Early, I just… could you look at me?”

Wanda slowly opens her eyes. She offers an adorable side-grin, “Very handsome, Vis.”

“Ah, well, thank you very much, but I meant…” He lifts his free arm to do a gesture similar to the one she does when using her powers. “You know. Check if I’m functioning.”

“Do you feel like you’re not functioning?” Her eyebrows draw inward, pressing a kiss to his arm before slowly sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s… I thought it was a data reset, perhaps. But it’s nearly been twenty-four hours and I cannot remember _anything._ ” He turns in bed, legs crossed into a basket, puffing his chest out a bit as if to help Wanda scan him better. Her hands begin to glow in the dim room. “I know who you are, of course. That I love you with all my heart, everything about _you_. It’s just… everything else that seems to be missing.”

“You seem normal to me, honey, I don’t know.” She frowns deep, eyes darting around his torso. She reaches out with a red hand to press against his chest. A gentle sigh. “I… I mean, did you have any issue yesterday with switching between human-you and synthezoid-you? Any weird… glitches there?”

“No, that was rather normal.” He scratches his face. “Of course, when I change, it’s merely cosmetic. Nothing changes on the inside, really. Still…” He knocks on his arm, a quiet clanging sound. “Quite vibranium-y.”

“Huh. Do you need to call in from work?”

“See, dear, the issue is I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing there. I _went_ yesterday, I know that much. I’m uncertain if I pressed a single key.” He shifts, the bed creaking underneath him. He shakes his head, “I must sound so silly. I’m certain there must be… _some_ rational explanation. I may need to manually reset. I’m just quite confused.”

“Not silly at all.” She reaches out to frame his face, “I’m so sorry, I wish I had the answers. I find myself forgetting things sometimes too, but I suppose that’s more human than anything.”

“Maybe I should like to stay home with you today,” Vision says, biting the inside of his cheek. “I feel very scrambled.”

Wanda offers a sad smile, “Well, silver linings. I’ve never gotten to take care of you when you were sick, before.”

* * *

_Friday_

Vision has never been one to stare in a mirror, at least not to his knowledge. Typically he doesn’t have much to fix or focus on. He is as he always has been. If anything, a passing glance to make sure his tie is straight on the way to work – which, again, is already a new concept.

But today, as he stands in the bathroom, his hands at his sides, the noise of Wanda making breakfast in the kitchen, he cannot shake the building feeling that something may be wrong, here.

Something in this reflection does not seem to be him at all.

There is the red and the yellow and the blue and the grey and the dull colors of his suit, but there is something beyond all of this. The familiarity of himself is fading. There is a misalignment in his circuitry, inside, making his structure somewhat unwieldy.

He is the Vision. He has a job and a wife and a house in Westview. He is unaware of neighbors. He is unaware of the layout of the town – there is a playground on the way to work. He has not paid attention to the other houses, to the possible healthcare facilities.

_(How long have they lived here?)_

The lack of knowledge on these topics – on others, on buildings, on town structure – was to be expected due to his lapse of memory.

And this is the issue. He knows, certainly, he is a synthezoid. Someone must have made him, must have planted him with this consciousness and these abilities. But he cannot… remember their name. Or when it happened. He does not know where to start.

He cannot recognize his own eyes.

“Vis?” Comes Wanda’s soft voice from the doorway.

He nearly jumps in surprise. He rests his hand on the bathroom sink to steady himself, “Ah, hello, darling.”

She bites her lip, “Still nothing, then?”

“Nothing,” he replies, almost a whisper. “Er, Wanda, may I ask you something?”

“Anything in the wide world, Vis.”

“Come, step into the light.” He holds his hand out, steady as ever, and waits for her to take it. He pulls her close, into the yellow light, holding her hands in his. “Tell me. Do I look the same to you today?”

She makes a face, “Of course you do.”

“No, please. _Please,_ look closer.” He bends down slightly to assist in her search. “I’ve been looking in the mirror for ten minutes. There’s something here. Something extra or something missing, I cannot tell, but i-it’s _something._ ”

Wanda’s disposition changes. Somewhere back between concern and… well, something else. Something just as unfamiliar. “Vis, you sound… panicked.”

“Hm?” Vision blinks. “I can’t panic.”

“Yes, I know. And yet.” Her hands begin to glow again, placing her palms on either side of his face. “I can’t detect anything different about you, Vis.”

“I can’t panic. I must be malfunctioning.” He presses his lips into a line. There is something in his chest that isn’t right. “Maybe… darling, can you remember any of our friends from before?”

“Before what?”

“Before Westview.”

The concern fades altogether. Now it is just the _something else_ in Wanda’s eyes. “We can’t leave Westview, right now. This is our home. I’ll keep scanning, if you’ll keep scanning. Between the two of us, we’ll find a way.”

“Someone… someone had to make me,” he mutters, turning back to the mirror. “Someone has to know what’s happening. I have to find them. Quickly. I may need to be disassembled, put back together.”

Wanda makes a noise in the back of her throat. Vision turns to see her lift her hand to her mouth, her eyes suddenly wet, as she backs out of the bathroom and runs down the hall. It takes a moment for Vision to understand what he’s seeing – Wanda’s _crying –_ and act accordingly.

He stumbles after her, suddenly abandoning all the worries that are building in his head – _the panic, I’m not supposed to panic, something’s wrong in my reflection, something’s terribly wrong with me –_ to focus on the worry that Wanda is clearly feeling.

“Wanda? W-Wanda, darling, I’m so sorry about what I said.” Vision isn’t sure which part upset her. He isn’t sure what’s going on. He can’t remember anything. Had he done something before that had upset her? He hopes beyond hope that isn’t the case. He tries to look through the walls, tries to scan, but the signal is fuzzy, here. He can sense her in the laundry room, finally. He presses his hand to the door, taking a deep breath. He can hear her uneven breathing. _No, no, no, no._ “Wanda? Please open the door. I’m sorry. I won’t… we won’t… I’ll stay in Westview. We’ll… scan, like you said. It’s alright. I just… something about the altitude must be messing with my circuits.”

He presses his forehead to the door. She’s either stopped crying or she’s moved further away. He hopes it is the first one.

“Wanda, I love you. Please. I’m sorry. I… I just am…” _What… am I?_ “I want to be the best I can be for you, and I’m not. Clearly. I’ve… I’ve made you cry.”

_“You didn’t make me cry, Vis. It’s me. Just having a day, that’s all.”_

_Yes, because of me, it seems._

“Will you come out, please, dear?” Vision knocks weakly. “I hate to be away from you when you’re hurting.”

_“I’d rather you come in here.”_

“Ah, of course.” Vision clears his throat before phasing through the door.

And the subject is forgotten within the hour.

By Wanda, it seems.

Vision cannot afford to forget this time.

* * *

_January_

There is a neighbor, now.

Time has not been passing linearly, Vision doesn’t think. But he worries to bring it up, for fear of upsetting Wanda. He does not linger in the mirror for too long. He doesn’t want to provoke that odd technological “panic” response again.

This, of course, does not mean anything goes away. It is just not visible _to him._ And, if he allows himself to operate under a certain level of object permanence, that means it is not there.

But there is a neighbor now. Vision is asleep in bed – it is a Saturday, today, and Wanda has prescribed daily naps on weekends. He knows that ‘napping’ doesn’t give him the same benefits it may bring her, but he does it anyway. In blind hope, he supposes.

He hears their voices. Wanda’s, beautiful and melodic as it floats through the cracks of the door. And another, sickly sweet. They talk about the hedges. The neighborhood watch. The shared fence. They have a fence? He hadn’t noticed.

_“Now, where’s this huuusband of yours?”_

Vision stares up at the ceiling, taking his equivalent of a deep breath. There is the deep understanding that he’s missing out on an opportunity to connect.

 _“He’s having a rest, you’ll meet him someday.”_ There’s something clanging in the kitchen. Lunch, maybe. He wonders what Wanda is making. It’s always fun to identify things by sound. _“He’s been having a rough month.”_

_“Happens to the best of us. And my husband, Ralph.”_

A laugh from Wanda. Not genuine. Vision can’t remember an ingenuine laugh from Wanda. He supposes this is a victory.

The hope that the conversation will dim soon and Wanda will appear in the doorway slowly fades as time drags on. He pulls himself from bed and pulls on a shirt. He checks his reflection, a fleeting glance to make sure he is presentable (human). He is, enough.

He steps into the light of the kitchen, blocking his eyes with a hand.

“Oh,” says Wanda. She’s got a halo around her when he eventually braves the light. “Hey, Vis. You’re up."

She isn’t thrilled to see him, it seems. He clears his throat, “Sorry, darling, I just thought perhaps I could come out and – “

“He’s a _Brit!_ You didn’t tell me that, Miss Thing!”

Vision blinks a few times to get the fog away from his eyes. “Hello.”

“Um.” Wanda seems thrown off by Vision’s presence. And this confuses him. It makes something in his chest click. “Uhhhh. Yes. This is… yes, this is my husband, Vision. And Vision, this is Agnes. Our neighbor.”

“Howdy, neighbor!” Agnes chirps. She stands and walks around the corner. Wanda holds out a hand, almost as if to protect Vision. She holds out her hand. Vision hesitantly reaches out to shake.

When their hands connect, there is a momentary static shock. And, just for a moment, Vision’s scanners work again. They do not offer much, no help with his inner workings or issues, but they offer a glimpse into a color he’d not yet seen.

Purple.

Agnes is wearing purple, bright hues he somehow hadn’t clocked for the last minute or so. How had he missed this? He looks around the room. Pieces of the wallpaper are no longer grey. And his reflection finally makes sense.

“Sparks fly!” Agnes gasps, collapsing into giggles before releasing his hand.

“Um… right, well, Agnes, it’s been swell talking to you and I hope we’ll have another chat soon!” Wanda shoots Vision a worried glance before steering Agnes to the door by the shoulders. “Thank you again for the cheesecake.”

“Plenty more where that came from, hon!”

And then she’s gone.

And Vision nearly trips over himself to check the mirror. He knows what’s wrong, now, the bit of himself he couldn’t see. In his eyes.

“Vis?” Wanda’s voice is distant. “What’s wrong?”

“Purple,” he mutters. He flicks the light switch as he enters, leaning over the sink and nearly pressing his forehead against the mirror to check his eyes. He grimaces at the human face that stares back at him and changes quickly back to _himself_. He pulls his right eye open, making certain he’s seeing what he was missing and he is. Purple flecks, scattered among the blue in his eyes. It was not there last time he had checked. Last time he had stared. Only red and grey and yellow, then. But this is different. This is a color he hasn’t seen for the past month. He was missing an entire _color._

“Honey?”

“My eyes, Wanda, they’ve changed color.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Vis, I thought we talked about this.”

Vision pauses. Maybe he is being silly. Maybe he should just lie down. Perhaps that static shock created an issue with the gears. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Too many maybes, too many statistics missing in his head. He knows he should be able to explain this away, certainly there’s an explanation for all of this. But his brain is blank, and Wanda is staring at him with no smile in sight. And he misses her smiles. And it will be much easier to ignore all of this and get back to the happiness and the domesticity and the normalcy because there is a _charm_ to normalcy and not a _charm_ to the way Wanda is looking at him as though he may combust at any moment – however close he may feel to combusting.

But, then emerges a calmer Vision from within that panic. _She loves you. You love her. Communication is important. Perhaps… if you calmly explain, she may understand._

He turns back to the mirror, perhaps to compose himself, to find his eyes completely purple. The panic emerges, stronger than ever. Just before Wanda takes his hand and leads him away from the mirror.

“My eyes, Wanda,” Vision murmurs, trying very hard to portray a calm Vision. Wanda does not slow. “Please, listen. I know I sound out of my mind, but I’m rather afraid that I _am_ out of my mind.”

“You need your rest, Vis. I’m so sorry we woke you, sweetheart.”

Vision stops.

He expects them both to stop. Typically, he’s strong. He knows that’s one of his abilities – phase through things, be strong. This is his ability. And yet, he stops, and Wanda continues to pull him down the hall. And then… she stops. And she turns to look at him.

“… Vis,” she whispers. She looks down at his hand in hers. Runs her thumb over the back of his hand. “What… I don’t understand?”

“Something is happening,” he says, even softer, looking down at her in the dim hallway. “My eyes. My strength. My head. My memories. Wanda, I don’t… it’s not coming back. And, in fact, I… think it’s getting worse.”

“I can’t see anything wrong,” Wanda murmurs.

“But you can _feel it,_ can’t you?” He looks over her face. “Darling?”

She closes her eyes and sighs, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Let’s turn in early, Vis. We’ll see what to do in the morning. I promise.”

Vision wants to start now. But Wanda looks tired, she looks worried, and of course the something else is there. But Vision bends down to pick her up anyway. And she smiles and laughs. And Vision smothers the grunt in the back of his throat because it’s not as easy as it was a month ago.

But they will talk about it tomorrow.

It will all be fixed tomorrow.

* * *

_Tomorrow_

Vision has a dream.

It is a mess of a dream, but a lucid one. Colors and touch and sound, it nearly leaves him gasping for air when he wakes up.

_He doesn’t need air._

There’s a moment of silence, the noise of Wanda breathing beside him, the warmth of her breath on his neck and the nice feeling of the soft sheets against his ankles, and –

_W-warmth?_

He opens his eyes, looks down at his pale hands, and suddenly, it’s almost as if everything explodes at once.

The noise, the colors, the touch, the senses he never had are now ripping at the seams of his body.

He can hear himself make a noise in the back of his throat before he hits the ground. He knocks his head against the nightstand and he _can_ feel the pain, clutching at the back of his head – where there’s _hair,_ he can feel the softness of the strands though the experience is dampened by the throbbing at the crown of his head. He’s never felt this before, he doesn’t think. It’s such a minor pain, but so long-lasting.

“Vis?” Wanda’s voice is gravelly. He can barely hear it over the static in his head, in his arms, in his legs. Where is it coming from?

“D – “ Vision can’t quite form the words. His throat feels funny. Feels strange and complex and different – different than complexities he had yesterday, wires and gears and boards that are placed with intent. “D – d – darling, I – “

Wanda peeks over the side of the bed. “Vis? Why’d you turn?”

“T – turn? I didn’t turn, I - ” He murmurs, his voice hoarse. He blinks up at her. “I can’t see.”

“You – “

“I…” He clears his throat, clutching at his head, trying to stand. He struggles, he’s not as structurally sound as he was last night, crashing into several walls on the way to the door. “It’s blurry, Wanda, I… I don’t understand, it’s all so loud, and I… and I - ”

“Vis, I need you to take a deep breath and try to tell me what’s going on,” she’s alert in the bed, looking over at him.

The sound comes back as the pain subsides and he grimaces, clenching his teeth. Wanda slowly crawls down from the bed, though she’s clearly being cautious.

“There’s – oh, this _horrible_ noise, d-darling,” Vision lifts his hands to his ears – which are _cold,_ he can feel them against his _warm_ palms – to try and drown it out but it seems to be coming from _inside_ his body. “It’s – it’s like a… like a _rushing…_ a _waterfall_ , throughout my body, humming and buzzing and… and… I can barely hear myself think, it’s… so loud, oh, God.”

He can feel Wanda’s hand on his arms. He can feel, he can feel, he can feel her kiss his face, the backs of his hands as she drags them away from his ears, trying to comfort him but he’s growing rather overwhelmed because he’s not meant to _feel_ her like this. He’s never been able to feel her like this before – it was always assumption and processed equations that could simulate emotion or understanding, but this? This is… this is _feeling._ What has _happened_ to him?

“P-please,” he murmurs, gently backing away from her red-hot skin. He cannot bring himself to feel glad, he rather feels scared.

Scared. He feels… scared. He feels the rushing in his head grow louder, throbbing around his ears and face and neck. This is fear. This is adrenaline and…

Blood.

Vision brings his shaky hands up to his chest, tearing at the buttons of his shirt and scattering them, shedding the fabric that _feels_ soft. The clattering noise echoes in his ears.

 _“Vis!”_ Wanda manages, her eyes wide. She has her hands out, not quite using her power ready but prepared to fight if she needs to. There is concern in her eyes, fear, but Vision is not looking at her anymore. “What is going _on_ with you?”

Vision desperately presses his palms to the center of his chest, feels the perspiration there, but more importantly… feels a pulse.

And everything goes black.  
  



	2. And they don’t know how it feels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter's divisions were based on the days/development of vision's vulnerability. this chapter's divisions are describing how long vision is human, starting with his first hour. 
> 
> this is one of the longest and one of the best chapters i think i've ever written
> 
> i really hope you like it. i'm thrilled. this is one of the most fun concepts to write for.

_One hour_

Vision paces the kitchen, switching neurotically between scrubbing at the skin on his arms, trying to understand how it could have gotten there (perhaps if he can get it off), and asking Wanda if she’s feeling alright. She doesn’t seem harmed, thank goodness, but even as he thinks about the possibility, he feels himself tear up. Perhaps there’s something in the air – something that only affects vibranium-based organisms.

After his fifteenth time bumping into the same stool by the island, Wanda bites her thumbnail in thought before digging around in an old kitchen drawer. It’s so clear what he likely needs. How could she have missed it? “Still blurry, Vis?”

“I can only see when something’s – “ Vision holds his palm a couple of inches from his eyes, nearly crossing them, “ – this close.”

“Ah. You may need these.” She holds out a pair of older glasses. She hadn’t needed them before now, perhaps they’d just appeared. Hopefully, Vision’s the same prescription. (He will be.) “Human eyes, human vision.”

“Human Vision,” Vision mutters sadly, taking them between his fingers. He stares at them for a moment before slipping them on. His face lights up. “Ah, yes, much better, darling.”

“You look handsome in them,” Wanda offers. He smiles at that, although weakly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve… I haven’t gotten used to the noises, so far,” he runs his hand along his neck, grimacing at the sensation as he moves to stand in front of her. He finds everything in his head goes quieter when he’s closer to her. “Not sure if I ever will. So much noise, inside.”

She hums, unsure how to reply. So she starts another thought, taking Vision’s arm and placing her cool hand over the red scratches that begin to appear on his skin, “I know it’s odd, but you’re not so invincible anymore. You can’t scratch this stuff off, dear, it’s very important that you keep it.”

“It does seem I’m rather fragile,” he frowns, “I can’t imagine I’m very useful to you, now.”

Wanda freezes, “What on earth could you possibly mean?”

“I’m not strong anymore, I can’t scan, I’m not fast, I can’t…” Vision looks over to the island and presses a hand to the countertop. His hand doesn’t disappear through the surface. He tries again. No dice.

“… You realize I didn’t fall in love with your powers, Vis. Right?” She squints at him, lifting her hand to his face. He leans into her touch, his palm over her fingers. Amidst all the panic, this moment brings calm. Humanity is too vulnerable for him, it lacks support and structure, lacks the bandwidth to fully understand much. And yet, humanity has touch and connection. Humanity has _this._ “I don’t measure you in _usefulness,_ silly man.”

“Perhaps you should do,” he sighs, his shoulders sagging. The horror of the situation has begun to fade, just barely, and the lack of hope is beginning to settle in. All those scans Wanda’s given him. They really haven’t shown anything. And his own scans, too, though they may have been compromised. “I can’t recall the moment I fell in love with you. It’s all doors in my head that… lead to other doors… that lead to blank, empty rooms. It mustn’t have taken more than a moment to have fallen madly for you, darling, but I… I’m missing all of our past. I’m missing almost all of _us_.”

“You told me before,” Wanda says quietly.

Vision’s face crumbles. His loss of memories must be such a blow to Wanda, “I… may I reclaim that memory?”

“It’s yours to reclaim, my love. Of course.” She takes a breath, leaning against the island. Vision mimics her movements. “There… we… hm. Difficult to choose what is important and what isn’t.”

“Is anything _un-_ important?” Vision tilts his head just barely. Anything Wanda can give him, he will appreciate.

Wanda bites her lip. Clearly she thinks so. “When we met… when you became. We… were in company.”

“Friends?” Vision whispers.

“Friends. Family, even.” She crosses her arms across her chest. Vision doesn’t know what that means – typically, when humans stand like this, they’re rather upset. But this is meant to be a good memory. Right? “We all lived in one house. And we all had the… um, same job. It often got stuffy, so you and I would take trips together. That was our way of dating, I suppose. Just… getting away from the crowd. Seeing if you and I were compatible.”

“What… was our job, before?” Vision’s eyebrows draw together, “Computers?”

“No, no, we…” Wanda measures her words carefully. “We all… hm, helped people. We fought… uh, for peace. With our family. And we were rather good.”

He stills, “We did?”

“Yes, dear,” Wanda laughs, “Why did you think you had a cape?”

“I…” Vision closes his mouth, “I’m not sure, I thought perhaps it was fashion. Or that you said I’d look good in one.”

“All of the above.” She seems keen to move on, to end this conversation. Vision almost considers letting it go.

“Going on trips,” he mumbles. “I take it we were compatible. Yes?”

“More than I ever could have imagined.” Wanda slips an arm around Vision’s waist. His knees feel rather weak. “About two years into our adventures, we went to Edinburgh.”

Vision watches Wanda’s face. She’s staring straight ahead, seeming to put certain pieces together. Had she forgotten as well? No. Perhaps she’s taking out those unimportant parts she had mentioned. Making sense of it all.

“Are you alright?” Vision tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Did something happen? In Edinburgh?”

“No. No, nothing bad,” She takes his hand, “You… well, you had planned all of these tourist-y events and activities for us to do based on statistical probabilities and weather forecasts, which you always did, but when we got to the loft… we realized it would be better to just stay in.”

Vision nods. He wishes he could have been there. Wishes he knew why she was looking at him so fondly. He moves to stand in front of her. “We stayed in. For how long?”

“Until we physically couldn’t anymore,” she says, it sounds much like a promise, “And we talked and talked for days. And I can never forget the stories you told about your first few days around us – uh, me.”

“When I became?” Vision is enthralled, his hands shaking as he shifts to place them on Wanda’s hips. Her shirt is soft. “You were there?”

“You had quite the entrance, Vis. Crashed through the glass, nearly got in a fight mere seconds after you opened your eyes.” Wanda leans closer, “And you looked right at me. One of the first faces you saw was me, Vis, and you told me that _that_ was the moment.”

“Ah,” Vision grins wide, sputtering for a moment before deciding on, “I believe it.”

She can’t help but mimic him, feeling more relieved than ever that he’s able to smile like that today. “You can’t remember these things right now, but you will. We’ll find a way. Alright? I love you.”

“I love you too,” Vision manages.

Wanda rises up to kiss him, he dips his head to meet her. Though it’s something they’ve done so many times before, this is the first time that Vision _feels_ it. The first time he gets that tactile reward – but it’s more than that. It’s an _explosion_ in his chest and he feels very much like he might combust. When Wanda parts, she smiles at him, and his knees give out.

“V- _Vision_ , are you alright!” Wanda finds herself on the ground beside him, desperately checking that he hasn’t hurt himself on the way down.

“I – “ Vision shakes his head, almost as if to brush off the shock. “Darling, _that’s_ what that feels like?”

Wanda closes her eyes, dropping her head into her hands, “Vis, don’t _do_ that, I thought you’d been hurt!”

“I’m fine, just – _wow._ ” He brings a hand up to push his glasses further up on his nose. “I – it’s, er, very much more than a tactile reward.”

Wanda helps him to his feet, frowning as he wobbles. “Still getting used to it?”

“I think you may have made me dizzy,” Vision says, reaching out to brace himself against the countertop. He offers a smirk that fades as he presses his fingers to his temple, “Kissed me drunk, dear.”

“Are you certain that was me?” Wanda scans him quickly, a flash of red before she drops her hand to her side, “Even now as you’re human, I can’t see anything wrong. It’s almost as if…”

She doesn’t continue the sentence. Vision wishes more than anything that he could place his hand on the side of her head and know exactly what she’s thinking. But he has an idea of what she means.

_It’s almost as if someone’s keeping me from seeing it._

* * *

_Twelve hours_

Vision is in a constant state of discomfort.

There was never discomfort before, he doesn’t believe. The vibranium tissue is meant to be indestructible to some degree, this fact is still remembered, it would take a village to create pain. Maybe he just can’t remember. But _this._ Is this how Wanda feels all the time? He knew she was the strongest person on the planet, but _this._

His thoughts feel much louder, now, than they did before. His stomach – he has a _stomach –_ aches. He can’t focus on the television show Wanda is watching, one of the old sitcoms she seems to favor very much. She cited comfort as the cause, that she watched these as a child, and Vision is trying very hard to feel comforted. For her.

Unfortunately, some of the confusion he held regarding media still remains even with this loud brain of his. He wasn’t paying attention to the plot at the beginning. He manages weak chuckles when he hears them laugh on the television.

There’s a steady rhythm in his veins – which he has, now – from his heart – which he has, now – and it’s nearly drowning him alive. And there’s the discomfort, and the rhythm, and the attempts to focus on the television, but he can’t quite manage to do any of them correctly.

“You’re thinking so loud _I_ can hear it, Vis,” Wanda says, her head against his chest. Vision wonders if she can feel his heartbeat. She likely can, it seems to be incredibly powerful.

“How are you feeling, darling?” He murmurs, brushing a hand through her hair. “Any… aches? Pains? Er… rumbles?”

“I’m fine…” Wanda sits up straight, suddenly terribly worried, “How are… _you_?”

“I wasn’t aware of the discomfort that comes with having a central nervous system,” he admits, “Though it is quite the testament to your strength I’ve always admired, Wanda.”

She pauses, “Discomfort? Is this about the glasses?”

“Ah, no, these are lovely, actually,” he knocks them further up his nose, poking them fondly, “I suppose if you can do this every day, I can manage. I don’t mind. I was more concerned that perhaps your cells were being altered as well.”

“Nothing altered, here,” Wanda frowns. “I’m so sorry, Vis, I’m sorry you have to do this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Vision turns toward the television again. A new episode is starting. Perhaps, if he pays attention this time, he can take his mind off of things. “I’ll get used to it. I mustn’t keep complaining, it certainly doesn’t help anyone.”

“Complaining is how we relieve stress,” she leans into his side. “Feel free.”

Vision thanks her under his breath, taking her hand and grounding himself in the distant feeling of her pulse. It is a welcome distraction from his own.

It only takes another hour for the realization to hit.

It’s only a passing thought, between episodes. Vision’s posture has slowly declined, feeling very much like a star that has folded in on itself. His strength has been drained from a port he no longer has. Perhaps this is that ‘tiredness’ that Wanda had talked about before. She murmurs something about feeling peckish, that she hadn’t eaten anything that day.

And then she freezes and looks over at Vision, who looks rather pale, and everything makes sense.

“Oh _,_ dear!” She scrambles to her feet, grabbing for his hands. “Can you stand?”

He hums softly, “I think I need to lie down.”

“How could I have forgotten?” She asks, mostly to herself, pulling him to his feet. “Human Vision, human food.”

“Food,” Vision repeats lamely before it makes sense, letting Wanda pull him by the arm toward the kitchen while he simply focused on moving his legs, “ _Oh._ ”

Yes, this does feel like what _hunger_ would feel like. An empty word. He wonders if this is what hunger always feels like, something so close to death. He wonders, too, how long he’s supposedly been hungry for. If there’s simply a deficit from today, or from the night while he slept. If he was bearing the hunger of the months before, or the years before that. It certainly seems much heavier than a few hours’ worth.

“I can’t believe…” Wanda mutters. Vision wishes she wouldn’t worry, it was his mistake. He’s meant to be able to care for himself, after all. “Um. I’ll see what we have in the fridge, and… and… yes.”

Vision rests his head in his hands, his glasses slipping slowly down his nose. He cannot muster the energy to push them back up.

He watches Wanda. She seems to know this kitchen inside and out, where everything goes, where to put things where she won’t bump into them. He never spent much time in the kitchen, only to see her in the morning before work. There are so many rooms in this house that are alien to him. Or, perhaps, that he is an alien inside.

He’s a human now. There is no numerical data inside himself to be miscalculated, there are no circuits or gears to have malfunctioned. His memories are still lost. It doesn’t make sense – surely, his memories are in there, still, now that he has a brain. As he watches Wanda move, he can recognize her, but not the blouse she wears. Her wedding dress in the closet, but no rings. Even these glasses. Perfect prescription, perfect fit, just… resting away in a drawer. These are all pieces that fit, somehow, he just cannot get them all on the same table.

There has to be something to help him recall. It must be in here somewhere.

When Wanda places a plate in front of him, Vision eats like a man who hasn’t eaten in years. Because he feels very much like he hasn’t. He doesn’t know what this is, but it tastes heavenly. He struggles slightly with the concept of silverware, the transportation from plate to mouth seems inefficient, but it works. He is ravenous, yet polite. Wanda presses a kiss to his head as he finishes. He still feels that lurch in his stomach, though he doesn’t want to request anything more.

“Here,” Wanda offers a glass of water, “You’ll need this as well.”

“Thank you, darling,” Vision takes it in his hand, humming at the feeling of the cold glass in his hand. “I’m sorry I’m so terribly unwieldy. I’ll be able to get the swing of this on my own, you won’t have me clinging to your back for much longer.”

Wanda does not reply, though she gives him a look. He doesn’t know what that means. He opts to think it a negative look.

He hopes to learn the meaning of these looks, soon. He hopes to gain back these memories, just enough to get him through this. Just enough to regain the rest.

* * *

_Twenty-four hours_

Vision wakes up the next morning and finds a wedding band on his finger. He feels the weight before he opens his eyes. It must have appeared while he was unconscious.

Wanda is fast asleep beside him, her right palm resting on his chest. Her finger is bare, though a careful glance to her nightstand reveals a glimmering ring amongst her other jewelry. There is a moment of doubt – that, perhaps, like all other things that are amiss in his mind, the rings are one of them. But he can remember actively _missing_ them. Searching for them on these very nightstands. He can’t recall Wanda having other jewelry, and yet… there they are.

Nonetheless, certainly, he wouldn’t have slept in a ring. He is new to this human thing, but he’s certain this isn’t part of their ritual.

_This was placed for me to find._

_No, no, that’s ridiculous._

_What am I thinking?_

Wanda’s eyes flutter open. She sighs warmly, “Good morning, husband.”

He turns his head to look. She presses her soft face to his shoulder. He cannot help but smile, “Good morning, wife.”

“Any dreams, last night?”

“Oddly, no.” Vision tries to pinpoint it, to recall. The dream he had the first night he had gained humanity was overwhelming, colorful, noisy. Last night was... silence. At least, what he could remember. “I may need a breather from dreams, in fact.”

“Just need to get the right one,” she smiles and presses a kiss to his arm, a pause, and then another. “I think today may be a spectacular day to stay in bed.”

Vision sighs, “I think I have work.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“I…” Vision clears his throat, “Yesterday was Tuesday.”

“No, silly.” She sits up, leaning on her elbows. He looks up at her, his head safely fastened to the cold pillow. He’s terribly confused. “It was Friday. Remember?”

There’s that weird feeling in his chest, now. Some sort of dread. But he hasn’t been looking at the calendars daily. He can start today. He chuckles, “Darling, I’m afraid it’s safe to say my memory does not serve me well.”

“Well. Please,” Wanda walks a couple of fingers up Vision’s chest. “Stay with me, here.”

A voice, muffled as if underwater, in the back of his mind mimics her words. But twists them. _Then stay. Stay with me. Or not. If I’m overstepping…_ Same words. Different voice. Different situation. Different, different, different.

“Are you… sure… it’s Saturday?” He asks, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth. The ring is there, now, on her finger. It was not there before. He knows this. He _knows_ this. He kisses her palm anyway.

Wanda rolls her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear, “ _Yes_ , Vis. Time must pass differently for you, now. Is that it?”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t believe so. But he cannot trust himself, anymore. There is no reason to trust himself anymore. He can only trust in Wanda. “Don’t mind me. Perhaps I just need to clear my mind entirely.”

“I have a way.” Wanda hums, tugging him gently by the arm. “Come with me.”

Vision follows as he is often ought to do. He expects to be brought to the kitchen for his first-ever breakfast, or to the living room for more sitcoms and comfort (this time, that he can actually participate in). But they pass the living room and stop just short of the kitchen. Which is confusing.

Vision stands idly in the doorway, watching Wanda kneel by the tub to turn the faucet on. It takes a moment for things to make sense. Do they make sense? What is happening? The showerhead sputters for a moment.

“Here,” Wanda says, slipping behind him and pushing him steadily forward. “Feel the water, make sure it’s warm enough.”

“I… am familiar with the concept of showers, I think,” Vision says, looking over his shoulder, terribly confused. “But I am unsure as to how this is meant to clear my mind.”

“Lots of people have their best thoughts and ideas when they’re in the shower,” Wanda guides his hand under the stream, “Especially when they’re in company.”

“Oh. I – _oh,_ ” Vision stutters. Wanda pats his bare side before retreating behind him. He can hear her ring clank against the sink, hear her shifting around. He can’t seem to move. “I think it’s w-warm enough. Now.”

“Great.” The shower curtain rustles and Vision turns to find Wanda gone. Just a puddle of clothes in her place.

“Dear?” He asks softly, just audible over the noise of the water. Sleep, he finds, makes him rather hazy. But he’s beginning to catch up.

“Make sure to take your pajama bottoms off before you get in,” comes Wanda’s voice through the steam. “That’s definitely important.”

“Ah, yes, right, well.” Vision looks down at himself, hooking his thumbs into the elastic for a moment before pulling them down. Wanda didn’t hesitate. He shouldn’t. He asked to clear his mind, she’s offering an opportunity. He places his band next to Wanda’s on the sink. “Er, Wanda, I’m – “

Wanda peeks her head out of the curtain, her hair damp. “The water will be cold by the time you get in, Vis.”

“Quite right,” he mumbles, carefully pushing the curtain back as he follows her into the shower.

The water hits the back of his neck first, an admittedly bizarre experience. He winces, but Wanda’s hands take his. He reminds himself that it’s just water, that it’s him and water and Wanda, and that this is meant to clear his head. New experiences often do this, overwhelm you. Him and water and Wanda.

“Weird?” Wanda asks.

“Weird,” Vision chuckles nervously. Wanda guides his hands to her hips, likely to get him to stay out of his head. It’s rather hard. “Yes. I believe that’s the word.”

“If you’ll turn around I can help you.”

Vision takes a moment to form words, “W-with what?”

“Washing your hair,” she says, as if that were at all clear. Her smile says otherwise.

“Ah,” Vision clears his throat and turns, though he looks over his shoulder to say, “Are you sure you can _reach_ my hair, dear?”

A pause. “A spectacularly bold time to mock my height, Vis. I have the upper hand, you see.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying – I’d _never –_ “ He starts to turn to make clear his intentions, but Wanda holds him steady by the hips.

She laughs, genuine and loud, the lovely noise echoing off of the walls. “Joking, Vis, it’s alright.”

He takes a relieved breath, “Of course, yes. Joking.”

“Get your hair wet, then lean your head back,” Wanda says, grabbing at a bottle. “Just close your eyes and clear your mind.”

“Easier said…” Vision does not finish the sentence, taking a shallow breath before ducking his head under the showerhead. The water runs over the currents of his face – for a moment, it quite feels like he’s drowning – before exhaling and letting his head fall back.

Such an odd feeling, breathing. There are the lungs, of course, that move deep inside the chest. And Vision can _feel_ them move – he doesn’t imagine most humans do, but they do not remember a time where they did not have lungs to feel. But it isn’t just the lungs, no, it’s the space around the lungs. The body dances with each breath, so many components shifting and sliding in tandem. It overwhelms him, and yet he needs it. Before, it was just his system’s program to replicate so many human traits. Breathing without lungs, blinking without the need to.

But, now, he doesn’t need to pretend. There is no need for programming where the real thing takes over. Beautiful thing about humanity, the body is often quite sure of its purpose, of its function. He can allow this new body – is it truly new? – to handle the necessities. He has a brain, now, and these fascinating nerves. Wanda’s fingers are gentle and kind as they card through his wet hair, down to his shoulders, the kiss she places between his shoulder blades. He feels these things, today.

And, amidst the overwhelming sensations and the love he feels and Wanda’s hands in his hair, there is still the dread. There is the worry about the rings, about the rooms he still doesn’t know, about his sudden transformation. About Wanda. About the tears she shed a month or so ago. It is all such a mystery to him, it seems to smother him. The dread remains, and he isn’t sure if it’ll ever leave.

But, blanketed on top of all of it, there is guilt.

Vision has been given this opportunity that he never would think to have. The opportunity to _feel._ To love, to dread, to stand in the shower with Wanda today and to dream next to her at night. He has the ultimate opportunity for normalcy, genuine domesticity without any falsehoods. He can be for Wanda something human, something consistent – someone real. A human man with a job who wears glasses and eats breakfast and wears suits because that is his role.

He decides, then, to ignore the dread. Accept what he’s been given. For Wanda’s sake.

“What are you thinking about?” Wanda asks.

Vision stills. He turns to face her, bending down to let her slick his soapy hair back. “You can hear, can’t you?”

“I don’t look without your permission,” she murmurs, brushing her damp fingers down his cheek. “You know this.”

“I don’t.” He smiles sadly, “My thoughts are all yours, darling. I can’t make sense of them. Maybe you can.”

“Another time,” she kisses him, and the tension in his shoulders relaxes. “You can rinse now.”

* * *

_One week_

“Cooking is much easier when one can taste,” Vision says, glancing over at Wanda as she sits at the island, looking rather fond.

This had all started out a day or so ago when Vision poised a question that should have had a simple answer – _where are the spoons?_ Wanda had been mortified that Vision didn’t know, more so toward herself that she hadn’t given it much thought. She often seems to forget that _Vision_ has forgotten much of everything. No memories have been recovered, yet. He does not hope, anymore. He must live in the moment.

Regardless, Wanda told him where the spoons were. He later had asked about mugs. And they made a little game of it. Wanda would cook and ask Vision to retrieve all the utensils. He’s gotten rather proficient at it, in the past few hours. While it isn’t the same, his brain is still nicely prepared to accept information. This his first time cooking without Wanda as his sous chef.

“You cooked for me once,” Wanda rests her head in her hands.

“Did I?” Vision pauses mid-stir. “Was it any good?”

“You were trying to cheer me up. It didn’t matter if it was good. It did the trick.” She pulls her hair back from her face, “I don’t think you were programmed to follow recipes, to be fair.”

“I was programmed for everything,” he mutters, shooting a look at her before clicking the burners off. “Following the recipes I can do, I suppose it’s just the… er, result… that I don’t have much stake in.”

“You do now,” Wanda gestures to him at his place by the stove, “If I didn’t know, I’d guess you were a professional. And you look incredible in an apron.”

“Really!” He turns to smile at her, then looks down at himself, “Thank you, darling. I – hm, this is an odd sensation.”

“Hm?” Wanda straightens her posture. “What? Are you alright?”

“Yes, it’s just…” He presses the back of his hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth there. “Seems that my face is warm.”

“Could be the hot stove.”

“That would be the logical explanation,” he nods, biting the inside of his lip. “Seemed to get much warmer after your compliment.”

“Is that so?” Wanda reaches for her wine glass to hide her grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Are you hungry?” Vision asks, voice higher than a moment ago. He grabs a few plates – he now knows where those are.

“Starved.” Wanda can’t help but laugh at Vision’s red face – a very human red, this time. His first blush. “Your beard’s getting rather long, Vis.”

“I know, it’s ghastly, isn’t it?” He scratches his face subconsciously. “I’ve been too nervous to shave, in all honesty. Seems to be a perilous task. I don’t trust my hands, they seem to be shaky at all times.”

“I can help you.” She shrugs, “Besides, I don’t mind the scruff. But we’re going into spring soon. It’s more of a wintery look for you, I think.”

“I will remember that,” Vision nods once. “Now, I know you told me, but where are the oven mitts again?”

* * *

_Six weeks_

“I’ll see you tonight, darling,” Vision says, kissing her cheek on his way toward the door. “Will you save me some coffee? It seems I never get around to having any.”

“It’ll keep you up all night,” Wanda warns, spinning around in the chair to watch him.

“I’m counting on it,” he replies, trying a wink – he isn’t sure if it works, the decision was made before he was certain he could perform it. “Regarding… er, what was it, again?”

“Pineapples,” Wanda says, making a dismissive gesture. “I’ve got it covered, dear. See you later tonight.”

The walk has never been long, to his work. It is not a slog by any means, but it’s rather boring. Today, he tries to identify landmarks. There are the other houses, surely, that he passes. The playground he was already familiar with. Then, there is the fork in the road – one of them leads to his place of business, the other… somewhere else. He looks at the street names. The unfamiliar road’s name is Ellis Avenue. It almost draws him near, but he has a job to do. Perhaps another time.

The parking lot is empty when he arrives. He slows his pace when he approaches, checking his watch. He isn’t that early. Had it always been empty? Had everyone else walked?

Everyone else… who is everyone else?

He pushes the door open with a hesitant hand. The lights are on. That is definitely a sign of civilization, of life. The front desk stands empty, no sound other than the clicking of his footsteps. So odd. Vision has been coming here for a long time, now, but he cannot consciously recall much about this place. He knows his desk well, knows what the computer looks like. It’s such a haze, here. Perhaps this is just what humans feel like when going to a corporate job. It makes sense.

When Vision reaches the top floor, he enters a completely barren office space. The lights buzz and the fans whir, but there is nothing else. The sun is just reaching the top of the sky, shining into the windows. It’s a rather lonely scene.

“Hello?” He says, adjusting his tie. “A-anyone here?”

Silence in response. Curious. Today _is_ Wednesday. Unless it’s some sort of labor holiday, people should be here. Is there a strike?

Vision walks past his desk, touring the room to view the others. There are phones at each desk, computers and keyboards, empty folders and metal baskets. Each a template of each other, no personality. No customization. His own desk has a framed picture of Wanda. Had he really been working alone all this time?

Vision clears his throat. It echoes through the space. He settles at his desk, taking the cold phone in his hand and dialing their house number.

_“Vision residence.”_

“Hi, er, something bizarre’s going on, here, dear.” Vision holds the phone close to his head, continuously looking around to make sure he hasn’t missed anything.

_“Oh, hi, Vis. Whatever do you mean?”_

“I mean… no one’s here,” he traces the grain of the wood in front of him. “Completely empty. And I can’t be certain that it’s ever been full.”

_“Is it a holiday?”_

“I considered that, but I can’t think of one. Would you check the calendar, darling? There doesn’t seem to be one, here.” He hears Wanda hum on the other end, hears her shift around to check. He waits patiently, rapping his knuckles against the desk. There’s an unease, here. What is he meant to be doing, again?

_“Ah. It just… huh, it just says it’s a holiday. No clarification.”_

“I knew I should have started looking at that thing.” He scrubs a hand over his face, “Well, thank you, darling. I’ll be home shortly, I suppose.”

_“I’ll put the kettle on.”_

“Thank you, thank you.” He pauses. Wanda doesn’t hang up. He has a question. It appears without warning. “Er, are you there?”

 _“Yes, I was waiting for you to hang up.”_ He can hear a laugh in her voice.

“Ah, well. I’ve a question. Completely – well, not _completely_ unrelated.” He stands, twirling the cord with his finger.

_“I’ve likely got an answer.”_

“Do we… certainly, we pay bills. Correct?” He looks toward the ceiling. “For the house. For… water, for heat.”

_“Yes, of course. Unfortunately.”_

“I… yes, I assume that is what humans do, but I don’t remember ever paying them. Or being a part of that process.” He worries at his lip, “You stay home, I come here and work… I suppose.”

_“Before… well, you can’t remember, it seems. We have. We do. I was always in charge of the finances.”_

Vision clears his throat, “I see.”

_“Now, come home! I eagerly await your return.”_

“As do I. See you in a moment.” Vision places the phone in its cradle. Facial expressions have been very foreign to him, recently, the consciousness of the movements rather than just the meanings. Just now, he can tell his face changes into something rather confused.

He _is_ rather confused. But he trusts Wanda. There isn’t much of himself to trust, just yet.

* * *

_Six months_

Vision is sitting on the couch, his arm propped up on the back. He must have been asleep, he doesn’t know what he was doing, here. Watching television, perhaps. Wanda is making noise somewhere else in the house, unfortunately not next to him. He reaches out to feel the cushion – warm. Couldn’t have been gone long.

“Darling?” He calls. His voice isn’t as broken as it usually is when he sleeps for a while.

“Oh, you’re awake!” He can hear the noise of hurried footsteps from down the hallway, then she appears around the corner. She rolls down her sleeves, leaning on the wall, “Any good dreams?”

“I wasn’t even aware I was sleeping,” he smiles, shifting to see her better. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“No need,” she waves a hand, “You needed the rest, and I needed to clear out some old storage.”

“Storage,” he considers that word. Storage. Like computers. But… _not_ computers. Objects. Objects from his past. Memories. “Where?”

“Oh, right. Uh.” She looks over her shoulder, “We had an extra room for storage. Some old things we brought when we moved that we couldn’t part with but didn’t quite fit with the – “

“Can I see?” Vision stumbles to his feet. His body didn’t seem to prepare to stand so fast. He leans his leg against the arm of the couch to steady himself.

“You want to see… the pile of junk in our spare room?” She smiles in that _I don’t think I understand, but I love you_ way. Vision is starting to pick up on these.

“Perhaps something will help me remember,” he says, walking over to take her hand. “Right? All our old things, there must be a memory amongst them.”

“… _Oh,_ ” Wanda replies. “Alright, well… it’s a bit of a mess, I – “

“That’s fine, dear, just lead the way.” He squeezes her hand. This is a new feeling – _excitement._ Hope, perhaps. This is the first opportunity to reclaim himself _for_ himself. An entire room full of memories. How hadn’t he found it, yet? Why hadn’t Wanda thought to tell him? She may not have made that connection.

Wanda links their fingers and begins to walk down the hall, “I’ve been organizing for the past hour, but we had a surprising amount. It’s all in piles on the floor, at the moment, but it’s all yours, of course.”

Wanda pushes the door open. He takes careful steps inside. There are three piles in the center of the small room, a closet on the far side of the room beside a window. An entire room dedicated to their past. And it was here the whole time.

“Where would you like to start?” Wanda asks, settling beside him with her hands on her hips.

“Awful lot of clothes,” Vision raises his eyebrows, kneeling by the pile. “What are these all doing in here? They seem rather new.”

“Not new, just… well-preserved, it seems.” Wanda stands at his side, reaching down to run her fingers through his hair.

He takes a navy sweater in his hands. It seems to be his, it would be rather large on Wanda. It’s peculiar. He’s never worn anything like this, at least not that he knows. Everything’s been so formal. There are the suits for work that he’d wear through into the night (of course, he’d take his coat and shoes off at the door), then the buttoned pajamas he’d wear to bed. Nothing like this. Nothing this _soft._

“This was mine?” He asks, holding it up. Wanda nods. “What happened?”

“Ah.” Wanda bites the inside of her cheek in thought. Vision stands with the fabric in his hands. He can’t seem to let it go. It’s such a nice material. He likely squandered it before. “Well, Vis, we… there were a few months… uh, a _long_ time ago, where we weren’t safe.”

Vision frowns, “We? Or the people we were fighting for?”

“We. Specifically you.” She seems to stare right through Vision’s chest as she carefully considers the words she wants to say. It must have been a terrible time. He wants to know more, know the exact details – perhaps that would help him remember – but, clearly, recollecting that experience might be too much for Wanda to bear. “Um… but I… _we_ mutually agreed that we needed to start over. So we left together, got married, put that behind us. Kept many of the old reminders in here.”

“I’m so sorry, darling.” Vision wraps an arm around Wanda’s shoulder, pulling her close. “I assume everything turned out alright?”

She hums, muffled by Vision’s shirt. “Yes. Exactly as I wanted.”

Vision carefully folds the sweater, bending down to place it back where it came from. He pauses, placing the one fabric down before picking up another. He holds it up, stares, then looks to Wanda, “Short sleeves?”

“Awfully fascinated by the clothes pile, huh?” Wanda laughs quietly. “Do you need a closet refresher?”

His face feels hot again, “I like these fabrics. They’re rather casual. They seem fun. And soft.”

“I can remedy that,” Wanda nods once, “I’ve been thinking about summoning us some new clothes anyway. Casual, you said?”

“Yes, please,” he says, pushing himself to stand. “My old wardrobe seemed much easier to put on, I will admit.”

“Noted, dear. I can do that later tonight.” Wanda kisses his arm, “Getting anything, yet?”

“Nothing,” he replies, pressing his lips together. “So determined to stay hidden, my memories. I’m not sure what that means.” Vision takes careful steps around the first pile to sit in front of the next one. This is more miscellaneous. May require more attention.

“I’m going to pour myself some wine. Would you like any, dear?”

“I think I’m alright. I would like to try some, soon.” He looks over her shoulder to watch her go. She blows him a kiss on the way, which he successfully catches in his palm.

Many of these objects are random, though Vision figures that is what nostalgia calls for. He carefully lifts a book on Sokovia out of the rubble, carding through its pages. He hasn’t touched a book yet in this form, hasn’t been able to feel the texture of the paper or appreciate the weight of it.

Sokovia. _Sokovia._ Wanda is from Sokovia. Yes, this is all Vision knows. Had they ever been there, together? Would Wanda want to go?

He places the book face-down on his right, then continues to search. There are more books that he stops to feel the weight of, pins whose original inscriptions had rubbed off, a couple of old CD cases. Amidst the group, Vision finds a small radio. He sits back on his heels, taking it into his hands. He rubs his thumb across the inscription – _to Wanda, from Clint –_ and desperately tries to identify that name. It had to have been someone he knew. They must have been one of their friends, their family. Similar to the clothes, it seems rather new.

Steadily, he moves to stand with the radio in his palm. He hovers his thumb over the switch.

“What have you found?” Wanda asks, nearly causing Vision to go into cardiac arrest. “Oh, sorry!”

“It’s quite alright,” Vision says, splaying a hand over his heart. “That was a good scare, darling.”

“Thank you,” she says, taking small steps to see what he holds. “Anything good?”

“I found a radio. From your friend,” he holds it inscription-side up so that she can see. “Who were they?”

Wanda sighs, bending to place her glass by their feet, “Clint was… a friend. He gave me that radio after I… we lost someone, in one of our last missions. Someone closer to me than anyone else. And so, he gave me that gift. Just to remember that he was there for me.”

“Ah,” Vision’s eyebrows draw together. He feels something odd in his chest. “Did I know them? The person you lost?”

Wanda’s breath is shaky as she responds, “Yes.”

Vision knows not to go any further. He pulls her into his chest and rests his chin on her head. “Oh, darling. I seem to be unearthing all of your terrible memories and none of my own.”

“It’s alright, Vis.” She murmurs, “I don’t mind telling you. In fact, I _want_ to tell you. But it’s… it’s so difficult to form the words, when I start to…”

“Whatever you share and whenever you share it, I will be here.” He feels Wanda pull back slightly. He looks down at her, accepts the kiss she offers. He wonders if he will ever get used to this feeling. He hopes not. “I love you, Wanda. With all the heart I now have.”

She rolls her eyes, though they begin to shine, “I love _you_ , husband.”

They live for a moment in the warmth of that embrace before Vision remembers the radio. He lifts it, his other hand perfectly placed against her back. “Do you think it works?” Vision asks softly.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she says.

He clicks it on. It fizzes to life, though it only produces soft white noise. Vision doesn’t even have enough time to feel disappointment build in his chest because Wanda waves a red hand, and a gentle guitar melody begins to filter through the room.

“Music,” Vision says fondly. He’s never heard this song before – the only songs he can remember now are the themes to the sitcoms Wanda watches. The radio becomes enveloped in a warm red as Wanda lifts it to float above their heads. She takes Vision’s hands and leads them to her hips, leading him to sway.

“I don’t think we’ve ever danced before, Vis,” Wanda says, her arms around his neck.

“Not even at the wedding?”

Wanda leans her head against Vision’s chest, “You know, I don’t think we did. We had a rather unconventional ceremony.”

“Unconventional ceremony,” Vision says, pressing a kiss to her hair, “unconventional pair.”

Vision’s heart is pounding in his chest. It is a beautiful moment, he knows, one he plans to remember forever. These senses he has have only become stronger – the feeling of Wanda in front of him, of the way she fits against him, of her breath through his shirt. The smell of her perfume and the shampoo she’s been using. The warmth, here. The sound of the song that seems so solemn but hopeful all at the same time. And each one of these senses promotes happiness, domesticity, normalcy.

And his dread reads this like a cue. Because this _isn’t_ normal, is it?

They are surrounded by dead memories. Memories _of_ the dead for Wanda, memories that _are_ dead for Vision. Vision knew the person who passed, too, before he lost his head. There is the inkling that he hadn’t been able to grieve like he wanted to. The radio that shares this song was a gift, a reminder of connection even though she may have felt so isolated in the moment. These clothes of theirs, so stained by pain that they’ve been stored out of sight.

Even now, so long into this journey of transformation, he loses time. He loses entire hours of time that he can’t place. Wanda said he had fallen asleep, earlier. He couldn’t have. His dreams had become so consistent, now, that he cannot rest without one. His waking moments often fade. He isn’t sure how he got home from work, yesterday, or if he came home at all. He was at work. Then he wasn’t. He knows he goes. He knows he returns. But he cannot explain his purpose, there.

As each day passes and he learns new things, it feels like he’s abandoning his past more than approaching it. He’s become so different that even his old belongings cannot help him recall the moments he had spent in them.

“Vis?” Wanda asks.

Right. He pushes the doubts away. He’s gotten very good at that, recently.

He doesn’t need to explain his purpose, no matter how often it feels like he doesn’t have one. If he cannot achieve normalcy for himself, he must promote normalcy for Wanda. Comfort. Happiness.

“Yes, dear?” He murmurs against her hair.

“May I hear?” She whispers, her fingers nervously stroking the back of his neck.

“Hear what?”

“Your thoughts.” She slows their movements, allowing the radio to slowly float back to its pile. The room goes still. “There are so many times when I know you’re here with me, but you seem a million miles away.”

“I told you, they’re yours.”

“I still like to ask. I keep forgetting to listen.” She lifts a hand to rest on his temple. He closes his eyes, a wince not out of pain but out of surprise at the sensation. It’s an odd event, having someone explore your head. Wanda is gentle, graceful at it. For this, he is grateful.

He keeps his eyes closed, his face rather scrunched up. He isn’t sure why he feels the need to give Wanda privacy, they’re his thoughts after all. It seems to take her a moment to reach any words – when she finds them, it’s almost as if Vision can hear them in her voice in his own head.

_Haziness. Blurriness. Uncertainty._

_I cannot wait to remember. I don’t understand what this means. My eyes are different, today. Are they? What did my dream mean? Did it mean anything? Likely not. Nothing makes sense._

_Overwhelmed. Scared. Alone. But not alone._

_I feel like I’m drowning, in here. Is my body new? Is it even mine? What did I look like, before? Have I always been this tall? This weak? We fought with friends. What friends? What were their names? Where did they live? Are they okay? Do they miss me? Did they like me?_

_Confusion. Suspicion. Alarm._

_This was placed for me to find. No rings, wedding dress in the closet, glasses in the drawer. I don’t have a key to the house. Do I need one? No one at work. No calendars. Empty parking lot._

_Dread. Doubt. Worry._

_The dread remains, and I’m not sure if it’ll ever leave. I never saw this room before. I don’t recognize this name. It’s all such a mystery, it seems to smother me._

_Guilt. Guilt. Guilt._

_This is my opportunity. To feel. To love. To dance. And I spend it afraid. Why am I afraid? I can be for Wanda something human, something consistent – someone real. This is my role. Play the role. I play the role until my head hurts. My head hurts._

_Ignore the dread. Accept what I’ve been given. For Wanda’s sake._

He feels Wanda move away. Cold air rushes in where her warm body had been. He opens an eye, almost afraid to look. Is she disappointed? Maybe he shouldn’t have offered for her to look. Is this embarrassment? Is this what it feels like? He reaches up to touch his own face. He may be blushing again.

Wanda is standing in front of him. Her hand is lingering in the air, though lower, almost frozen. Trying to understand, certainly. Vision opens his other eye, trying to understand what she may be feeling. She seems to be pouring over the information in her mind. Making sense of it, where Vision hadn’t been able to.

He waits for her to say something. Something like _oh, it’s okay, Vis. I have a perfectly logical explanation._ Or, _don’t worry, dear. Are you hungry?_ Or, _don’t be ridiculous! There’s no need to be afraid._ But she just stands, looking at him but not _at_ him.

And the moments tick by, they turn into minutes, and he begins to realize that maybe he should say something. Maybe he should apologize. Why did he do that? _She already had been through so much, Vision, why would you do this to her?_

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say. “I didn’t… I’m _happy_ , with you. I love you. I know I shouldn’t be so overwhelmed, there’s nothing to be overwhelmed by. I’m just… I’m. I don’t know. God, I’m so sorry.”

Wanda doesn’t reply. She doesn’t seem to hear him.

Vision’s pulse becomes erratic. He steps forward, taking Wanda’s hand and slowly moving it back to her side. “Darling? Please. Please. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean those things. Um.” He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. How could he have done something so terrible without so much as saying a word? “Wanda? I… I’m getting better at it, I think, at… er… being human. I think, by the end of the year, I won’t even remember what I was so worked up about. Surely, that’ll be the case.”

Wanda finally meets his eyes. Tears are brimming. _No. No, no, no._

Vision squeaks and runs his thumb across her cheek, trying to catch them before they fall, “I’ve done a horrible thing, it seems. _Please_ , say something. How can I help?” A beat. “I should probably leave. Maybe take a walk, give you time away from me. Would that be…? I’ll…”

His hands shake as he steps away, trying to give Wanda the space to breathe. He’s invaded enough, it seems. He’s roamed through her memories and thrown his doubts at her. What a terrible husband.

This is overwhelming. What is this feeling? It is panic. A different form of panic.

What is it called when one lays himself bare, his vulnerabilities split open, to someone he loves only to have hurt that person by doing so? What is it called when his lungs forget how to breathe and the room starts to spin? A panic… something.

Wanda takes his hand before he can leave the room. He feels himself being pulled back, can feel Wanda’s lips on his. The panic does not completely subside, but it begins to be more manageable. Wanda’s touch seems to do that, make him feel more stable.

When they part, Wanda frowns and presses their foreheads together. A tear rolls down her cheek. Vision reaches to wipe it away.

She takes a shaky breath, “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Vis.”

“It is what we have,” Vision replies, his own voice somewhat heavy. “Neither of us are in control.”

She doesn’t seem to believe that.

Before either of them can speak, a small tapping noise comes from the window. They both look over – Vision more confused than anything. The sun seems to have gone dim, the clouds have rolled in.

“Rain,” Wanda murmurs, sniffing.

“Hm,” Vision says. He takes her hand to walk toward the window. They peer out, watching the pavement grow dark, speck by speck. “I don’t think I’ve seen it rain, yet.”

“Let’s check it out.” Wanda offers a smile, still tinted by sadness but clearly wanting to move on. Vision lets her lead him out of the room, closing the door with a wave of her hand. He can hear a lock click as they walk away. Perhaps that’s for the best.

“Do we need coats, darling?” Vision clears his throat to get his voice back to normal.

“No, that’s not how you experience rain, silly man.” The door opens on its own as they fast-walk out to the lawn.

The air is warm and heavy. It settles into Vision’s dress shirt, the rain begins to plaster it onto his body. The water is soft as it hits his face, prompts him to lean his head back and allow all those fears to rinse off. He takes deep breaths. He can feel Wanda take his hand, turns to see her doing the same thing.

If she is still crying, he can’t tell through the rain.

They stand there until their clothes are well drenched, weighing them down, and until the first roll of thunder echoes in their chests.

* * *

_One year_

Vision has forgotten what it was like to have powers. He doesn’t even consider it, anymore. There’s no need to dwell on what he’ll never have again.

He knows Wanda has them. She uses them daily. But there is not a sense of inequality, there, as Vision can no longer remember what he looked like before he was _this._

Maybe because he does not think to look.

Wanda seems happier, work is going well. He’s able to enjoy all of these new experiences, feel the warmth of a shower or the spark of a kiss, and that is all he could possibly want. It is all he knows. Besides, if he were to think about it, the powers were rather useless in their quiet suburbia. He isn’t fighting, anymore. He isn’t fighting for peace, nor is he fighting against this new reality. He’s given that up entirely.

One thing Vision had underestimated was nature. He hadn’t paid attention to it until around now, nearly a year after he changed. He didn’t see the point in going outside if not going to work. But nature is _beautiful._ The trees, the way each individual leaf moves in different directions when the wind blows. The feeling of the sun on the sunny days, the muddled yet safe feeling of walking under clouds on the murky ones.

He and Wanda have been taking daily walks. After work on the weekdays, before lunch on the weekends. They walk hand-in-hand around the neighborhood, or down to the park. Every time, it takes a conscious effort for Vision not to comment on the lack of others. The lack of people walking their dogs or mowing their lawns. The silence of the town. Wanda is content with the silence, the rustle of leaves and the drone of wind, and Vision finds himself growing fond of them himself.

As winter grew near, Vision found more things to be grateful for.

The _cold_ is new. January last year had been squandered, certainly. He hadn’t even noticed the feeling of the cold air, the way it pinches his skin and reminds him that he can feel and he’s _happy_ to feel. His first snow was glorious, he and Wanda had moved the couch in front of the window to watch it fall for hours. The dichotomy of a snowy day and the warmth of a heavy winter coat is a decidedly enjoyable one.

Vision finds winter to be his favorite season. He’s seen them all, now. He’s felt them all. Worn his different clothes, all soft in their own ways. Explored for an entire year.

“Are you ready to go, dear?” Vision asks, taking his scarf in his hands, his back to the living room. “The clouds are good today, I think they bear snow for us. It could fall any moment.”

Wanda enters the living room, wearing no snow-prepared clothes. “Oh, sorry, dear, didn’t I tell you?”

Vision hangs his scarf around his neck, looking at her, “Tell me what?”

“Agnes invited me over to play cards,” she says, seeming rather upset about it. “I completely forgot to tell you, I’m sorry.”

“… Oh,” he nods reservedly. He reaches up to remove the scarf. “Well, I can wait for you.”

“No, no, you go ahead,” she walks over, leaning up to re-place his scarf, twice-wrapped for good measure. “One of us has to enjoy the fresh snowfall. Besides, Agnes could talk for hours before we even get started. It’s more fun to walk in the daylight. Safer too.”

He frowns, “Are you sure? Perhaps we could just skip today. I wouldn’t mind accompanying you, just so you have someone… er… more temperate, around.”

Wanda leans her head back and offers one of the best laughs Vision has ever heard, “Oh, Vision, I love you too much to subject you to that. You go on without me. Tomorrow, maybe it’ll snow again.”

“Thank you, darling,” he takes small but fast steps across the floor to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you when I return. Or, when you return, whichever comes last.”

She pushes him away, unable to contain her smile. “Get out of here, while you still can.”

He does. He has not had the displeasure of spending time with Agnes. He is still confused why Wanda seems to spend so much time with a person she doesn’t seem to like very much. Perhaps it is a departure from Vision. That’s understandable. Though Vision loves Wanda in the way that he doesn’t want to spend time apart, he’s aware that humans sometimes need space. He’s learned this from the sitcoms. Many problems are solved by space.

He wonders what problems he’s caused Wanda. Ones he may not remember.

He hasn’t walked without Wanda in a long time. Usually she chooses the route. Because of this, Vision’s muscle memory takes over and he finds himself in the parking lot of his work building. It’s a weekend, he doesn’t want to be _here._ Slowly, he takes steps backwards, perhaps to return home – he misses the sound of Wanda’s voice, misses her hands wrapped around his arm as they walk – when he notices the sign again.

Ellis Avenue.

He walks forward, following the sign. He had completely forgotten about Ellis Avenue, about its magnetic quality. This is an adventure, he supposes, a way to stay out of the house while Wanda’s gone. It’s awfully lonely in there without her.

This… This… is a new feeling.

Vision might describe it as… instincts.

There are instincts. Bad ones, if he knows what instincts are. Wanda mentioned fight or flight once when they were watching television. This is that. As he moves forward, his heart begins to pick up. His hands begin to sweat in his gloves despite the freezing temperatures. He can feel small snowflakes land on his cheeks, but they melt instantly. He seems to be overheating. In winter.

He inches closer and closer to the end of the street. There aren’t many houses, here. It’s rather barren. He comes to a three-way break in the road, just at the cusp of Ellis, and he notices it.

The shimmering red.

It sparkles, just barely noticeable by the street lights. The sun is going down. How long was he walking?

It seems to be some sort of sheer curtain… but it isn’t, is it? It’s something different entirely. It forms a wall up to the heavens and all the way down the street. Vision’s breath catches in his throat. This is surprisingly… spectacular, for their little town. Surely, it has an end.

Vision begins to follow, hesitantly, keeping a few feet of distance from the red. He doesn’t pay attention to the time. The snowfall builds from a careful sprinkle to a blizzard. Vision squints – the red only glows brighter, making it easier to see. He walks until it becomes rather difficult to wade through the snow, until the surface reaches very close to his knees.

He realizes he’s been walking for miles with no end in sight.

It surrounds the town.

Vision stops walking. The snow has begun to seep into his pants, to ground him in one of the worst ways. There’s no logic for this. He’s been searching for logic for so long, he’s been able to find it for everything else. The rings he could have overlooked. The lack of people. The lack of understanding of his purpose. These could be blamed on his vulnerability, on his lack of insight.

This is… a forcefield. That surrounds their entire town. That he has not seen… or come into contact with… for an entire year.

That is simply impossible.

He remembers his thoughts.

_Accept what I’ve been given._

No, not that one.

_It’s all such a mystery, it seems to smother me._

Yes, that one.

_Nothing makes sense. This was placed for me to find._

Oh, God.

_The dread remains, and I’m not sure if it’ll ever leave._

Vision takes reluctant steps toward the curtain. The wall. The forcefield. It waves like Wanda’s linen does in the backyard on sunny spring days. It reacts to his movement. It reacts to his knowledge.

He lifts a hand. He does not know what he plans to do. He doesn’t have anything in his mind.

Preceding any action, he feels something buzz against his leg.

Once. Then twice. Then thrice. Enough times to warrant examination.

He lets his hand fall away from the iridescent wall to reach into his pocket. He pulls it out – a phone. A mobile phone. Since when did they have mobile phones? He’s never used it, in the year he’s been lucid, here. He’s never _seen_ this before. Where did it come from?

He hesitantly answers, “Hello?”

_“Vis!? Vis. Are you alright? Where are you? I can come find you. Are you alright?”_

“Wanda… when did we get phones? Mobile ones?” He feels those muscles on his face contract, the confused ones. This is too much new at once. Too many confusing variables to keep straight.

_“Never mind that – it’s been hours! Are you hurt? I can get the car, and – “_

“We have a car?” He almost whispers the words. He stares forward at the red. It seems, the closer he gets to this wall, the more his mind begins to think. The more it begins to doubt. “I… I don’t understand, Wanda, when did we get a car? Have we always had it?” Do they have a garage? It’s never in the driveway.

_“Where are you.”_

“I’m.. just headed home, dear.” Vision’s throat is dry as he swallows. His voice is monotonous, too much energy being used to focus on his surroundings, not enough to sound convincing, “Got lost. Without you. Silly me.”

_“Shit. I knew I should have just cancelled cards. Stay where you are, I’ll get you – “_

“No, no, I’m on my way. No need to panic. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know where he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Is this… a lie? “I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

_“… Are you sure you’re alright? How… far are you? I can barely hear you through the static.”_

“Are you angry with me, dear?” He hears himself ask. He isn’t sure why. He can’t even blink. The red ripples, almost as if in response to his question.

 _“No, I could never…”_ A deep breath from the line. _“Just come home, please. I’m… just come home.”_

The phone clicks. He drops the phone into his coat pocket.

“What are you?” He whispers, reaching out again. Through his glove, he can feel the energy buzz along his fingers, tracing the prints. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

Before he can stop himself, before he can consider the logic, knowing full well there is no logic, his gloved hand collides with the wall. It ripples, almost as if he’s touched a pool, and then – it pulls his hand in.

White-hot pain. Fire. _Lava._ Burn. Pain. Unlike anything he’s ever felt.

He falls back with a cry, staring at the hole that’s burned through his glove. Panicked, he presses his hand into the snow – it sizzles – which makes the pain even worse. He bites his lip, trying to mask the grunts as if anyone can hear, and pulls his scarf from his neck. He needs to cover this. He isn’t sure why, but he needs to cover it. Protect the burn from the cold, from the snow, which he thought would help.

Vision begins to walk home. Alone. And confused.

Beneath the fabric of his scarf, his hand throbs. Each wave hurts more than the last as the pain settles into his bones – which he has. He isn’t bleeding. Maybe it isn’t that bad. Surely, Wanda can heal him. She’s healed him before, the nicks in his skin from shaving.

This is different. He knows it is.

But, then, before he can think any further on it, he’s in his driveway. And his head begins to spin.

_I walked… for hours in one direction… and it only took a matter of minutes to return…_

_Swallow the doubt. You’re home. Wanda can help._

He can’t seem to open the door, one hand numb from the burn and the other numb from the cold. He knocks twice with the un-injured hand, thinking that to be a more reasonable course of action. The door opens before he can manage a second knock.

“Vis! I was worried _sick,_ you didn’t call, you didn’t come home, can you _imagine_ what I thought happened? I thought you may have – “ Her words die as she sees how pale he is, as she sees the way he’s cradling his hand. “… Vis?”

“I’m sorry,” he manages. She guides him inside, her clear anger fading into panicked concern. “I got lost. And it got dark.”

“Are you… let me see,” Wanda pulls her hair back from her face, taking his wrapped hand into hers and unraveling the scarf. She gasps at the sight, eyes flickering between the burn and Vision’s face. “Vision, what… what _happened?”_

“I forget I’m human sometimes,” he manages a chuckle, but his head aches. His blood burns. His hand throbs.

This is the second lie he’s told Wanda today. He cannot forget he’s human. It is all he is. And the guilt begins to eat him alive.

He wants to tell Wanda. He wants to say, _I found something. Something alien. It’s surrounding the town. I don’t think we’re safe. I think that’s what’s been wrong. I think that might be what changed me._

But there are the instincts. Instincts that tell him not to do that. And he is incredibly weak. So he keeps his mouth closed.

“How… Vis, how did you manage to burn your hand in the wintertime? In the snow?”

“Can you heal it?” He manages, shedding his coat. He’s too hot. It’s too hot in here. Too many thoughts. “I’m tired. I need to go to bed.”

“I… yes, Vis, of course.” And she lifts a hand to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may be adding another chapter or two to this story. i can't part with it so soon. so much potential.


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